If
you were to go online right now and search for Zen and lawn mowing,
I can pretty much guarantee you thousands of results. For some
people, the idea of mowing the lawn takes on a level of dedication
and importance that cannot be overstated.
This
essay should not be a part of those results. We are not going
to explore the mystical nature of lawn care.
But
there is a beginning and end that leads to a new beginning to
be found here. And it carries along something of a transcendent
atmosphere.
There
are three stages of work involved in mowing the lawn around our
house.
Stage
one is hopping on the ride on mower and heading out. It’s a good-sized
yard. Mostly level and open. Not a hard project, but large enough
that the ride on mower is wonderful to have.
Stage
two involves a push mower. There are areas with some rocks, that
could really damage a ride on mower. There are drainage ditches
that would flip a ride on mower. Sections that require, I suppose
a bit more finesse is a good description, along with understanding
that you don’t bring a sledgehammer to put a thumbtack in place.
Stage
three breaks out the trimmer, the weed whacker. Getting right
up against fences and walls, sheds and trees.
Given
the way schedules can work, and rain can come along, the effort
has been known to take two or three days. (And for those of you
that question such a schedule, I’m envious of you. You obviously
have never needed to mow your lawn after two or three days of
rain, where puddles and soft ground prevent progress.)
The
trick is, whether it takes you a full day or days, or you can
wrap everything up in under an hour, something funny happens when
you’re done. You need to do it again. The grass is going to grow,
and in a few days you will need to mow it. Grow, mow, repeat.
It doesn’t end.
And
it’s there that we begin to uncover our moment of Zen.
There
are challenges that get summed up as shoveling against the tide.
Moments where futility comes into play. Moments where no matter
what you do, it will never be finished. And mowing the lawn may
be one of the simplest and most perfect examples of such challenges.
I
need the frying pan to make the meal. I’ll clean it when I’m done.
And once I clean it, I’ll end up using it again. Maybe I shouldn’t
clean it. Maybe throw it away. Maybe store it someplace inconvenient.
But I’d still need to eat. Still need to make dinner. Whether
the frying pan or something else, there will still be dishes.
If not this, it will be that.
The
car needs gas! What can I do to stop driving? I’m tired of driving
now. It’s not nearly as exciting as it once was. I just want to
click my heels together three times and be wherever I intend to
go. I don’t want to spend three or four hours on the highway.
I
finished mowing the lawn today. The last thing on this run was
walking around with the weed whacker. And as I did, I noticed
a few spots that were mowed yesterday that already seem to need
to be mowed again.
It
doesn’t end.
No
wonder I don’t make my bed.